trying to take what's lost and broken, make it right
by killianslonghaul
Summary: "He stops, watching her intently, and she realizes he's waiting for her to respond. She's stuck on his words, everything suddenly making so much sense and no sense all at the same time. He's in love with her. And she's ruined them." or Bellamy and Clarke take a while to get back on the same page after being reunited.


_I had a dream about a burning house  
you were stuck inside, I couldn't get you out  
laid beside you and pulled you close  
and the two of us went up in smoke_

* * *

The first time it happens, she surprises herself.

Bellamy is slightly leaning against her shoulder from where he sits on a couch and staring at a map that they've drawn, brows furrowed as he taps his finger absentmindedly against the paper. "You said this area has been checked?" he verifies, glancing at her for only a second.

"Yeah. Me and Madi searched it out last week and took anything that was worth taking. It probably won't be worth hitting again for another few weeks." Her voice is rough and she clears her throat, shifting a little so that she can see better.

He makes a mark on their makeshift map in the area she's specified, nodding to himself. "What about here?"

His thumb taps against a spot south of the bunker and she nods. "Not recently, we can check it out."

A different mark is placed here. Sighing, he sets the map aside and leans his head against the wall behind him, closing his eyes for a moment. She finds herself staring at him— the sharpness of his jaw, the thickness of his eyelashes, the way the crease in his forehead slowly lessens.

He's been steadily at her side since they found each other nearly a week ago—she'd been walking with Madi in the woods when she'd stumbled into Raven. The girl's eyes had widened and she'd screamed "Oh my God", which had immediately drawn the other six. Bellamy had stared at her while the others had hugged her—she'd felt his eyes the entire time. When she'd faced him, he'd reached up slowly, as if he was afraid moving too fast would make her disappear. The expression in his eyes had been so reverent that it made her skin tingle, and she would have looked away if he didn't look so awed. His fingers had brushed her cheek, his hand warm against her skin, and then he'd let out a breath before wrapping her tightly in his arms for so long, it took Murphy clearing his throat for Bellamy to let go.

Still, even with them falling back into their routine—side by side, making decisions—something about it feels different. Something about _him_ feels different, changes in how he carries himself, how his eyes assess what's around him, how he looks. His beard is scruffier than she's ever seen it and the six years she's spent away from him show just a little in the planes of his face, the corners of his eyes.

Not in a bad way. He's just older. They both are.

Now, he's as relaxed as she's seen him in a while though and it takes away from that age just a bit. He doesn't seem concerned that he's been leaning against her wall with his eyes closed for nearly a minute now, his body still. His mouth is slightly open, his brow settled instead of furrowed, his Adam's apple bobbing once as he swallows and lets her know that he hasn't fallen asleep.

That's what she's doing—studying his features appreciatively— when his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his eyes still closed. Her heart jumps just a little and warmth rushes through her. It's a physical reaction, and she knows that, but it does little to stop the sudden want that courses through her veins.

Suddenly, he seems much closer than he actually is, the heat of his body infiltrating her space. His hand is hanging half off of his own thigh and touching hers, and that contact is all she can feel, radiating out from where his fingers brush the fabric of her jeans.

(And she craves more.)

By the time he opens his eyes and meets her own, all she can think about is kissing him.

She still shocks herself when she does.

Leaning over, she latches one hand onto the back of his neck and pulls his lips to hers a little forcefully. She doesn't think about the fact that he melts so easily against her or how he doesn't even hesitate to rest his hands on her hips when she shifts to place one knee on either side of his lap. Her senses are tingling and her heart is racing, but there's nothing to think about except how warm he is, how nice it is to kiss someone after so long. It's only when she rocks down against him, causing them both to moan, that he uses his grip on her to push her away gently.

"Clarke, wait—"

She whines, the ache between her legs only growing worse. Her hips press down again without her thinking about it, desperate for friction, and he closes his eyes tightly, thumbs digging into her hips a little too hard for a moment. His jaw is tense, and she runs her thumb over it.

"Do you not want to?" Her voice is rough, but he opens his eyes and they're dark when they trail over her slowly. She knows his response before he even opens his mouth to speak.

"Of course I do," he says, taking a deep breath. "I just want to make sure you do."

Her hesitation is brief.

If it was anyone else, she would pull away. But this is Bellamy—all warm eyes and big heart. He's different now, sure—older and somehow even steadier— but he's still _Bellamy,_ right _?_ She trusts him more than she trusts herself and she _needs_ this, the desire suddenly so strong that it's hard to breathe. Whatever difference she can sense in their relationship now won't last.

They'll be fine. They always are.

She just needs to get this out of her system.

So she tangles her fingers into his hair and drops her mouth back to his, a little softer, the slightest nip as she pulls away just far enough to whisper a "Please, Bellamy" against his lips. He swallows and pauses, just a moment, before he starts bunching her shirt up. As soon as his hands are on the already hot skin at her waist, she kisses him again, already pushing his jacket off of his shoulders.

He doesn't stop them again.

After, when she's lying satiated beside him, she feels him press a lazy kiss to her shoulder and she smiles.

She maybe could get used to feeling like this.

* * *

"Morning."

Clarke doesn't mean to jump at his voice, but it's close behind her and she jolts, rolling her eyes when Bellamy's laugh moves her hair. His chest is against her side and he touches her waist to reach around her and grab one of the apples on the table in front of her. A shiver runs through her, and if the smirk on his lips is any indication, he noticed.

She glances around briefly and turns so that she's facing him. "You're the worst."

"Sure I am." His grin widens and he winks at her, looking so incredibly happy that she can't help smiling back. He picks up another apple and holds it toward her. "You eaten?"

"Yes mom," she drawls, side eyeing him as he takes a bite out of his own apple, setting the other aside. His lips are still curled up but a devious glint finds its way into his expression. He moves closer to her, close enough to loop one of his fingers through her belt loop without anyone seeing.

"Was yesterday not a good indicator that I am definitely not interested in being your mom?" His voice is deep and rough, sending electricity through her veins as he presses in next to her. She swallows, suddenly feeling much too hot even though there's a cool breeze blowing through Bellamy's curls. It'd be cute if the look on his face wasn't absolutely sinful, doing things to her that she really doesn't want to admit to him.

Even so, her blood is rushing and her body leans into his almost automatically. She's aware that they aren't completely alone, that someone could see them, but the way his eyes darken as her leg touches his is worth it. Grinning, she glances up at him from under her lashes.

"Maybe I just didn't get the message. I am pretty stubborn." She's surprised that her voice doesn't shake, but he tugs a little on her belt loop and the next thing she knows she's pinned to her room door with Bellamy's hand down her unbuttoned jeans, panting against his neck as he circles his fingers just right against her.

(So much for getting it out of her system.)

* * *

It becomes a routine before she's even realized it.

He's addicting, so effortless to fall into when they're alone, so easy to want when he stands too close to her in a crowd. His hands are always warm, burning hot against her bare skin. His mouth is heaven and he loves to use it, pressing open mouthed kisses over her breasts, her stomach, every piece of her that he can find. When he's buried inside her, he likes to tuck his head into the crook of her neck and whisper to her, telling her how good she feels or how beautiful she is.

The separation she'd thought she felt early after being reunited disappears, replaced by something else entirely. She decides that she likes it, though, this secret arrangement they've made for themselves. He's around when she needs him for decisions or negotiations or backup or whatever else, and then she sneaks into his room sometimes at night once Madi is asleep, loving how he smiles when her head peeks in the door. She never stays too long after—she doesn't want Madi to ask questions or others to see her leave in the morning. It's not that she necessarily cares that others might know, but something about their hidden rendezvous excite her.

Once, his head is between her legs and on a particularly rough swirl of his tongue she gasps, pulling on his hair a little. Smiling, she pants, "We should have been doing this a long time ago."

He chuckles without removing his mouth, his fingers curling from where they are inside of her just right so that one more flick of his tongue sends her over the edge. She giggles as she comes down, loosening her grip on his scalp as he leans up on his elbows.

"Yeah?" he asks, one brow arched.

Instead of replying, she crooks a finger at him and he complies, crawling up her body. His lips trail against her skin the whole way, so that by the time he's settled on top of her, she's aching for him again.

(She doesn't know how he does it.)

He's still looking at her, curiosity and something else bright in his eyes, and she suddenly feels a little shy about her words, her heart jumping as she averts her gaze to his neck. Distracting herself, she leans up enough to press a kiss there, trailing her hand down his chest until she can get her fingers wrapped around him.

He responds with a groan, his forehead falling to her collarbone as she lines him up so he can sink into her. As he starts to move, she forgets about that look in his eyes and the way it had shaken her. Instead, she focuses on how good he feels and how much she's enjoying this new thing between them.

She definitely doesn't want to mess it up.

Still, she doesn't linger long once they're finished. She lets him rest his head on her shoulder for just a minute before slipping away from him, getting dressed and tossing a quick smile at him before leaving.

She's busy for a few days and doesn't see him much—the camp bustling enough that she only notices him a few times in passing. She's stressed because people seem to be hell bent on hurting themselves and she's _tired_ , and Bellamy finds her sitting down in a room near their infirmary, head in her hands.

He sits down in a chair beside her and runs a hand up her back, squeezing his fingers around her neck for a moment.

"You okay?"

She nods, but her sigh is heavy and his other hands joins the one already on her back. She sits up a little straighter only to lean toward him with a breathy moan when his fingers dig into her shoulder blades.

His chuckle brushes against her ear. "That feel good?"

There's only a little bit of an undertone to his voice, but she still opens her eyes and shifts enough to kiss him. He catches her against him easily, and it makes her sort of giddy to think that their bodies respond to each other with so little effort now. Her back starts to protest from the way it's twisted toward him, so she stands and straddles his lap, almost immediately grinding her hips down.

"Someone could walk in," Bellamy manages to say against her jaw, but he makes no indication that he'll loosen his grip on her waist. Clarke laughs, standing just long enough to close the door to the room they're in and lock it. She settles back onto him and he presses his chuckle into her neck, sucking on her pulse point until she's arching against him. His breath is hot against her jaw when he mumbles, "So resourceful."

It's a little awkward to navigate their chair, but his hands are strong on her back as she rides him, never once letting her think that she might fall. As quick as they've ever been, she comes apart around him first and he follows her not too long after. They're still catching their breath when there's a knock on the door, and Clarke jumps so hard that she nearly does fall, but Bellamy locks his arm around her waist and catches her. They have to stifle their laughs, which makes it even more difficult for Clarke to grab her pants and tug them back on.

Bellamy, on the other hand, has already buttoned himself back up and is watching her amusedly when she finally opens the door. It's Kane, who informs Clarke that her mom is looking for her. She nods quickly and then turns back to Bellamy once they're alone again.

They both burst into a fit of laughter, and he stands, tugging her against his body in a hug for a moment. His lips press to her hair for just a second as she relaxes against him. She looks up at him once they've quieted, still leaning into his chest. "Guess I should go see what my mom wants."

"We could always go for round two and see how long it takes her to come looking for you herself." Bellamy's eyes are bright and she shoves at his chest, shaking her head as she starts to step into the hall.

"Absolutely not," she calls over her shoulder, barely catching the wink he tosses at her.

And when her mom rounds the corner and grabs her arm complaining about a patient with a broken arm, she can still hear Bellamy's laugh.

* * *

She gets used to him looking at her affectionately again, like he used to before they got separated for so long. The looks are a little different now, like everything with them, but she slowly becomes familiar with his quirks again. She gets to the point that when his eyes meet hers after one of their late night trysts and his lips quirk up, she can smile back easily.

The discomfort that had come with the expression the first few weeks they had been reunited disappears.

At least, until the day she realizes he's avoiding her.

It takes her a few days to notice, until she sees him one day only for him to do a complete ninety degree turn to go in the other direction. She thinks it's strange, but her stomach really sinks when she tries to talk to him only for him to make up an excuse about needing to do a weapon inventory. He doesn't meet her eyes at all and he nearly trips over his own feet trying to walk away quickly. It's just her, too, because she sees him talking with Murphy, with Raven, with Echo, seeming perfectly normal.

For some reason, it makes her angry, so she waits it out until he goes to his room that night and follows, slipping in behind him. She has a million questions poised on the edge of her tongue but they all falter when his gaze meets hers.

He hadn't gotten very far inside of his door and now he's standing in front of her, as close as he can be without actually touching her. She can't help it—she closes the space between them and kisses him. He stiffens against her and she pulls back, trying to read his expression to figure out what's wrong, but she realizes that she can't at all.

And that she hasn't been able to this whole time.

Before, reading him was as easy as knowing her own feelings. Now, she can see that he's upset but she has no idea why. She doesn't understand what's putting that furrow in his brow, the frown on his lips, the sadness in his eyes.

Maybe six years changed him more than she thought.

For a moment, she feels bitterness rise in her throat. She hates that she spent six years on earth while he spent six years up in space. She hates that Raven and Murphy and _even Echo_ probably know him better than she does.

It was what they had to do, and she knows that, but it suddenly seems so unfair.

His eyes are searching her face, but she thinks that he doesn't find what he's looking for because he looks almost disappointed, eyes hard and mouth turned down in a frown. She still has her hands on his arms and she shifts them to his shoulders, the action pressing her closer to him. His expression finally shifts into something that she easily recognizes—his eyes darkening, lips parting—and when he presses forward to trap her between his hips and the door, she can't help the gasp that slips past her lips.

He's rougher than usual, his hands pressing hard into her sides and his mouth unforgiving against her throat, the swell of her breast. Anger rolls off of him in waves but she gets lost in it anyway, and she doesn't really care about the semantics of it when it still feels _amazing_ —not until they're finished and _he's_ the one that gets up to leave even though they're in his room.

An unfamiliar ache builds in her chest as she gets dressed alone, watching the door to see if he was coming right back.

He doesn't.

Confusion settles into her stomach, but she just slips out of his room silently and goes back to her own. Madi is there, doodling on an old sketch book, so Clarke sits down beside her and draws with her until they're both fighting to keep their eyes open. She falls asleep with Madi tucked beside her, her head pressed against Clarke's shoulder.

This time, when he avoids her, she doesn't seek him out. She lets him go out of his way so that they won't cross paths and doesn't try to talk to him. Even when she dreams about him, waking up hot and wanting, she doesn't find him and try to get him alone.

She doesn't just miss the sex.

She misses _him_.

Her heart is aching worse than anything else because he isn't around. He is no longer a steady presence at her side, always making sure she eats and smirking at her when she trips over the terrain. She misses how he laughs at her, how he makes fun of the books she has in her room, how he always seems to know when she needs him to distract her from everything.

He was different but he was still the most constant thing in her life, something she could count on. His absence now is almost worse than him being in space, so close physically but otherwise so far away.

She's cleaning a small cut on the side of Miller's face a week after the last time they spoke, and when she asks him what happened, he scoffs. "Bellamy happened."

It's all she can do not to jerk at the sound of his name, the sharpness of the pain in her chest not lessening at all in the last few days. "What do you mean?"

Miller only shrugs at first, but he must see something in her eyes that changes his mind. Sighing, he grumbles, "I was just trying to get him to eat, and he punched me."

"He _punched_ you?"

"He didn't mean it," Miller defends, standing when Clarke moves away from him, finished. "Something's just up with him lately. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Clarke nods, but now she's focusing on the other part of Miller's statement, her stomach turning. Her voice comes out quiet. "He's not eating?"

Now, the man beside her shifts, looking uncomfortable. "Like I said, I'm sure it'll be fine."

He acts like he'll leave, but then he slowly turns back to her. "Look, I don't want to butt in, and I'm honestly just sort of inferring from what I know, but… I think you guys will figure this out. You haven't been around each other for a while, and you have to get back in sync. That's all."

He leaves her then, and once she's sure he's gone, she sits down and cries. Tears fall so easily, like she's been holding them back for too long. Miller is right—she had convinced herself that they were fine but she was, apparently, wrong. She hadn't been reading him right. She thought he was happy with what they were doing, but that obviously wasn't the case.

It's like suddenly realizing that she doesn't know this new him at all, that maybe he isn't as much her Bellamy as she had thought. Sobs escape her throat and she buries her face in her hands, trying to figure out how she had gotten everything so wrong. He'd seemed fine and she had been happy, and now she has no idea how to repair the damage that's been done.

She doesn't even know what that damage is.

When she calms down enough, she thinks of Bellamy not eating and remembers the batch of apples from yesterday being particularly nice, so she goes and grabs two before searching for him.

The least she can do is make sure he eats.

She finds him near the edge of camp, alone, and she sits down next to him. He's already stiffened, not looking in her direction, but she simply puts the two apples in his lap.

"I heard that you weren't eating," she says, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Her eyes are burning with unshed tears, but she closes her eyes, willing them not to fall. "And I know you love apples, so."

For a moment, she thinks that will be it. She didn't come to talk to him, after all, especially considering he seems so opposed to the idea lately. Wrapping her arms tightly around her waist to keep from reaching for him, she thinks she'll stand up and just walk away.

But then she glances at him.

He's staring at the apples in his lap, one finger stroking over them absently. His expression is dark and she recognizes the hurt in his eyes but has no idea why it's there. She thinks about what Miller said, about how they just need to find their sync again.

It seems so far away at this point that it seems hopeless, but she still swallows past the lump in her throat and speaks, her voice shaking. "Are you okay? Did I… Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

She looks away when he starts to turn his head, not sure she could handle the intensity of his gaze, not wanting to feel the disappointment when she can't decipher his expression. "What?"

His own voice is rough, but she doesn't look back at him. Instead, she keeps her focus on the ground in front of them. Unsure, she stammers over her words. "I just… I know you're avoiding me and I don't know what happened, but I miss you. If… we need to stop what we were doing, that's okay. We can stop. But you can't just disappear on me, not without at least telling me what I did."

There's a pause, long enough that she itches to look up at him but she can't—she's too afraid. So, she stares at the tips of her shoes and tries to keep her breathing steady despite how hard her heart is beating. He shifts beside her, and she thinks it might be to move closer to her, but she can't be sure.

"I'm sorry."

His voice is quiet but she can hear the genuineness in it, and she finally looks up. The pain is still on his face, but now she recognizes something else deep in his eyes, pulling down the corners of his lips.

Guilt.

She thinks if she hadn't come to be so familiar with it before, she wouldn't be able to distinguish it now, but it's something that hasn't changed. The emotion still softens his eyes and furrows his brow the same way it used to.

It still pulls at her heart the same way it used to.

"Just tell me what happened," she whispers, her throat tight. He tilts his head and she stays still, not moving her gaze from his. "Tell me how to fix this."

Slowly, he reaches up as if he'll touch her face but he stops, hand running over his hair instead. His eyes move away from her own, focusing downward. She misses the connection and leans toward him a little without even realizing it, her leg touching his just enough to feel the warmth. He doesn't pull it away, but something flashes in his eyes and she can't interpret it, so she just waits as he seems to think.

His voice is low when he finally speaks. "After the first time we… I guess I had this weird idea in my head that… that we were together? I sort of assumed that you slept with me because you wanted to be with _me_ , not because you wanted to be with _someone_."

She wants to tell him that it _was_ him, mostly, but he doesn't give her a pause to speak in.

"So, we had this thing going and I was having a good time and everything seemed okay and then… I was talking to Murphy and he said… he said it sounded to him like it was just sex, and that I should ask you. The plan was to just ask you, but I thought about it and… I was scared that he was right, so I just… I avoided it, but… when you came in my room that day, I guess I realized he _was_ right after all. I mean, you didn't ask me if I was okay or why I'd avoided you, you just kissed me and…" He swallows, the furrow in his brow deepening. "I was angry."

Bellamy sighs, finally looking up to meet her eyes. There are tears threatening in them, and pain shoots through her, the hurt in her chest expanding and spreading everywhere, making it hard to get air in and out of her lungs.

"Did I hurt you that day?" he asks, his voice raw. "I swear I didn't mean to, I just… I'm in love with you. And finding out that… it's not like that for you… I was mad at myself for thinking it was and at you for not telling me that it was… that it was just sex."

He stops, watching her intently, and she realizes he's waiting for her to respond. She's stuck on his words, everything suddenly making so much sense and no sense all at the same time.

He's in love with her.

And she's ruined them.

She shakes her head, clearing her throat before she speaks. "You didn't hurt me, not really. Not until you stopped talking to me."

He nods, and she hears him take a deep breath. "I'm so sorry."

A laugh escapes her, short and humorless. "It's my fault. I'm the one who initiated."

"I could have said no."

They both laugh a little now, and she thinks his smile seems genuine. She bites her lip for a minute, considering. Her throat tightens. "We're a mess, huh?"

He shrugs, shifting a bit closer to her. Their shoulders bump. "A little, but we were before, too."

A tear slips down her cheek and she brushes it away quickly. "I just want us to be okay, like we were before."

He hesitates for just a moment at the crack in her voice, and then he reaches around her shoulders swiftly, tugging her into his chest. It takes her a second, but he holds her until she relaxes against him. "We're going to be okay," he whispers into her hair, squeezing just a little. "I'm sorry."

She nods against him, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead into his neck. "Me, too."

* * *

It takes them a little while, but eventually they find a new routine that works. He greets her with a smile in the mornings, and she returns it. They eat together and sometimes before they go about their day, he'll squeeze her shoulder or pull her into a hug. His touches still make her warm, but this fire is different. Instead of an intense blaze of desire, it's a gentle burn everywhere, comforting and stable.

He grins at her if he sees her throughout the day, and she brings him apples while he's on guard duty, and he asks her about Madi, and eventually it becomes easy. She falls into step beside him without faltering, and he bumps his elbow against her shoulder when she says he needs a haircut, and they sit next to each other around the fire at night, huddled close while Madi tells everyone the stories that Clarke had told her.

It's comfortable. It's almost like they were before.

She never brings up that he said he was in love with her, and he doesn't, either. Sometimes, she thinks about it, but she doesn't linger on it long. They've seemed to find their rhythm again, and she certainly doesn't want to risk their new balance, not if she isn't sure she loves him, too.

What she is sure about is that she needs him by her side, that as long he's okay with where they are, she's okay with where they are.

And he seems fine.

That's all that matters.

At least, until she tells Raven what happened.

"Clarke, I love you, and when it comes to negotiations and survival and all of that, you're the best. But you're so stupid when it comes to relationships. You always have been."

"I take offense to that."

"You were supposed to." Raven rolls her eyes but sits down beside her, expression serious. "Bellamy is in love with you."

"Yes." Her heart jumps.

Raven nods, pursing her lips. "Don't you love him?"

Clarke doesn't answer for a moment, wishing she had a better one. "I don't know."

"You want to know what I think?"

She almost laughs. "You're going to tell me anyway."

Raven doesn't miss a beat. "I think that you do."

Clarke shrugs, unable to look up even though she can feel Raven's eyes. When she doesn't say anything, Raven continues. "If you didn't, it wouldn't have hurt so bad when he stopped talking to you. You were using sex to try to rebuild a connection with him, which was a terrible idea, by the way, and it messed everything up, but you fixed it because you can't live without him any more than he can live without you. It's why he's convinced himself he's happy with just being your friend."

"You think he isn't?"

Raven shakes her head, smiling just a little, the expression almost sad."I think he thinks it's better than nothing. After living with a Clarke-less Bellamy Blake for six years, I don't think he could ever be completely without you again. He's content, not happy."

"Oh."

"And so are you."

Clarke shakes her head, suddenly fighting tears as she speaks. "I don't want to mess up what we have now. After everything got so bad, I can't… I don't want that to happen again."

Raven doesn't speak for a minute, and Clarke can tell it's because she's considering her next words carefully. "I don't profess to know a whole lot about love," she says slowly, sounding sad and Clarke resists the sudden urge to apologize. "But I know that he loves you, and I know that you love him, even if you're scared to admit it. If anyone can make it work in this crazy world, I think… it could be you two. Just, you know, take it easy, and maybe don't go straight to jumping his bones."

Clarke tries to picture it—sitting in his lap by the fire, tucking herself into his arms at night, pressing kisses to his lips in the morning before they get up—the idea makes happiness swell up in her chest. So, she nods slowly. "Yeah, maybe."

Raven pulls her into a hug. "It's okay to be scared, but you two have been through a lot. I think you can make it through pretty much anything. Even death, apparently."

"I wasn't actually dead," Clarke argues weakly, holding on to just a bit of her stubbornness.

"You were to him." Raven lets her go and pats her cheek gently. "Now go. Next time I see you I want cute, romantic details. Not steamy ones. Do this right, Griffin."

Clarke gives her a little salute as she stands. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

She still takes two days before she actually talks to him. His smiles are still wide and she really thinks more than once that it might be better to leave things the way they are.

But she thinks about what Raven said, mulls it over, and one morning when he hugs her, she feels him turn his head just enough for his lips to brush against her forehead. The gesture is sweet, making her feel warm all over, and she makes her decision easily then.

So, she slips into his room that evening, sitting down on the edge of his bed, feet dangling off the side. He picks up on her uncertainty, on the battle still lingering in her mind. He scoots forward until he's sitting cross legged facing her. His toes brush against her thigh, his fingers gently smoothing up and down her arm. "Hey, what's wrong?"

It takes her a minute, but he's patient, expression open as he waits. "You said you were in love with me."

His touch stills, but he doesn't hesitate. "I did."

She swallows, at least thankful that his hand is still on her at all. He didn't pull away completely. "You meant that?"

"Yes." It's another quick answer.

She nods. She didn't doubt him, but she wanted to make sure, wanted to know that it hadn't changed. Her throat is tight, but she's already come this far, so she turns her hand until she can loosely tangle their fingers together. When she speaks, she meets his eyes. "When I slept with you, it wasn't just because I wanted to be with someone. If it had been someone else, I probably wouldn't have done it. But it was you, and I was desperate to feel close to you again, so I did."

He averts his eyes for a moment, and she lets him. He stares at their hands and she waits, quiet until his gaze slowly returns to hers. She continues, careful with her words.

"I didn't mean to mess us up because of it. I think I thought that what we were doing was okay because it was keeping us close. I didn't know it would… I didn't know how you felt. I didn't know you thought it was… more."

He smiles, small and sad. It makes her chest ache. "I know you didn't."

She's speaking almost quickly now, trying to calm herself enough not to garble her speech. "And when I found out, I didn't think that was what I wanted. I just knew that I needed you in my life. But I thought about it, and… it still scares me, because I don't want to ruin everything again, but… Maybe… maybe I do want it to be that way. Maybe we should do that."

The words are sloppy and she trips over nearly every single one despite her best efforts, but once she's done, she feels a small sense of accomplishment. She did it. She told him how she felt.

She can tell she's shocked him—his mouth falls open a little and his hand twitches in hers. Once he's regained his composure, though, the corners of his lips twitch up. "Yeah?"

She recognizes the hope burning his eyes and feels it rise in her chest, as well. So, she nods, returning his smile. "Yeah. Just… We should probably go slowly, though. I want to do it right this time."

Bellamy leans forward little by little, eyes on hers the entire time, and she realizes he's making sure that this is okay. So, she shifts slightly toward him, too. His nose bumps against hers and he captures her lips in a kiss so soft, the barest press of his mouth against hers for only a moment. "Okay, yeah. We can do that."

She looks at him, smiling at her, and he looks as happy as she feels. Suddenly there's nowhere else she wants to be. Shifting a little closer to him, she asks, "Can I… can I stay here tonight? Just sleep?"

"Madi won't mind?" he asks, but he's already wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.

"I think I can convince her."

He grins, biting his lip and looking down at their hands as his thumb brushes over her knuckles. "I would love that, princess."

Something about the old nickname slipping from his lips makes her feel giddy, like maybe they can actually do this and it'll be great, like maybe they won't crash and burn.

So she kisses him again, pressing a little firmer and tangling her fingers in the hair at his neck. He smiles a little against her mouth, his own hand coming up to cup her jaw gently. His thumb fits perfectly in the dent of her chin.

Yeah, she thinks, maybe they can do this.


End file.
